Conchúbhar Mhac Coirhéibe

Conchúbhar Mac Coirhéibe

gach dlaoighe da mongaibhIs a loine mar glan pauraSíos aig silleadh go dtige gill meuraibh sgith do leigh fuirearc go fad sgéulaAcht aníos aig tilleadh go mullach maralt eunach mall rosg chriortáil aig cuimilt a maigneisebheir gnaoi gach siollaire chuice le marabh sheuchaintcia bhid a tuitim is gancrithe gach am leolitha na mílte duine go ccuirid a baintérabhis min sas millis gach cuid bheg deirig bheul sángo siartuighe druidthe fa iomal a gill dheudaibhis mile binne na seinnim ar ghall teudaibhA caoin ghuit cliste f troime g aimreiteach píobb a leinibh mar chlubh na bán gheise Air bhruach na tóinne hionall sa ghréine Gan díth g uireasba acuma le ceard ghleusaibhLe baon mhac muire g chroime g cham dheunamh

Cuid 2Mar bloasgach oibhe gan bhrise a lár meise caoin chorp snuite is gille bláith sméraAgas fríd chrobh leinibh go ttuca go lán eurgaA Iosa millis an chú ? do chomais a sheasbána an íoc ar sgriosaos dár ccuideasa glan gaolaibhAn luibhíc achuiris a bhfortarr trí (?) seanncréusaibhA rígan shult mhar is gille ina an teach réultáinMo lámh is mo thaobh ullan mhac parthláin chan (crích)

mo lámh is mo thaobh phein d mo bhuaireainAir lár mo luighe g sians suairceasFach manla mín a bhíons ar cuairt agam rádh comhais ioseal dar mshirín guairar áil le críort arís beidhad anuarranA mbár a tshaoighil tabhairt faoir da lus cruadhtainAn lámh sa a bhíobh a caoinechneasuighadh cruadh loit g bhríghe is rinte ar minachtar.

Transcription by Edel Churraoin.
Conchubhar Mhac Coiréibhe

Conchubhar, Conchubhar, Conchubhar Mhac Coiréibhe, Pluck the bluebell in the field and let us make peace,Pluck the head from the daisy, ‘tis a weak little guide,Bobaro, little Dermot, I eloped with you yesterday evening.

There’s a little ace of diamonds sparkling through the white,And worst of it is, bad luck always plays on my table.O dear sweet companion, never part from me ‘til death,And like a leafless tree is a man without hate or love.

I am worn out and weak, without strength in my limbs,Without cattle, without wealth, without a dowry on earth.I’m thankful to God that my life is near its end,That my pride is subdued and that I am again a child.

This translation is taken from Donal O’ Sullivan, Bunting’s Ancient Music of Ireland (Cork: Cork University Press, 1983) p.17.